


We're All Weeping Now

by sandy_claws



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Bad at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Humanity (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Grief/Mourning, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), No beta we fall like Crowley, The title is more dramatic than the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27638651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_claws/pseuds/sandy_claws
Summary: "Aziraphale was tired of the ineffable ways of the Almighty. She was tired of watching every human that Crowley cared too much about be taken away from her. She was tired of the bureaucracy of Heaven and the stupid angels who thought themselves so far above the humans. She was tired of her gleaming scythe. She was so tired and she could no longer defend her blind faith to the Great Plan while a demon mourned an innocent child who had never lived."
Kudos: 12





	We're All Weeping Now

**Author's Note:**

> This story was born from a painting by Janis Rozentāls called Döden, which features a female Death dressed in white. It's a very beautiful painting, go check it out. The title is a line from "O Children" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. Guess what I was listening to as I wrote this. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated, as are all comments.

The flowers were blooming. All manner of flora splashed pastel shades over the meadow. A cacophony of vibrant color that meshed together in a work of living art. The sun shone, its rays softly tracing each petal and blade of grass, each dull pebble and iridescent insect. Everything seemed to glow faintly from the sun’s light.

At the center of the meadow, a woman sat. Dressed in a charcoal gray blouse and black skirt and wearing dark glasses which hid her eyes, the woman seemed sorely out of place among the flowers and sunshine. She rested in the grass, hunched over a small bundle in her lap. Her shoulders did not shake nor did any sound escaper her lips, but a tear glistened for a moment on her cheekbone before slipping down. 

Among the trees at the edge of the clearing stood a figure in a white dress. A hood covered her head and held in her right hand was a sickle. The curved blade gleamed in the shadowy light, but the wooden handle was worn smooth in the woman’s grip. She stepped into the clearing and into the path of the sunlight. More so than the flowers beneath her feet, the woman’s white dress seemed to glow. Yet the flowers did not pale in comparison to her beauty. Instead, it seemed to heighten their beauty and the flowers bloomed more passionately and colorfully after she had passed them. The angel of death reached the hunched woman and bent to examine the bundle. 

“He is beautiful,” the hooded figure murmured. “Did he have a name?”

The grieving woman lifted her head and her scarlet hair shone dully. For a moment, her glasses slipped too, revealing yellow reptilian eyes rimmed in red and puffy cheeks. 

“No. His mother died as he was born and he died moments later. Barely even lived.” Her voice cracked and rasped. “I knew her, Aziraphale, she was so excited to be a mother. She wanted him so badly and it killed them both.”

“Then it is a blessing that she found some happiness in this life before it ended, don’t you think, Crowley?” The angel unbent and rested a small hand on the demon’s thin shoulder.

“You don’t mean that.” Crowley sighed tiredly. “Why would God plan this, angel? Why-” But she knew it was useless. Aziraphale did not question. She did not see the flaws in the Great Plan, she did not see the corruption of Heaven, or at least she would never speak it aloud. She would not argue with Crowley while she was grieving, but Crowley knew she would never convince the angel to agree.

“I don’t know, my dear.” Aziraphale was tired of the ineffable ways of the Almighty. She was tired of watching every human that Crowley cared too much about be taken away from her. She was tired of the bureaucracy of Heaven and the stupid angels who thought themselves so far above the humans. She was tired of her gleaming scythe. She was so tired and she could no longer defend her blind faith to the Great Plan while a demon mourned an innocent child who had never lived. Aziraphale sat beside the speechless Crowley and tossed her scythe away into the grass.

“I don’t know, Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated. “I cannot understand how the death of a mother and child can be part of the Plan while you are the most compassionate creature I have ever known, but are condemned for your questions.”

Crowley was floundering. She had never gotten this far before, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Aziraphale was supposed to stop her pointless questions, but here she was, practically blaspheming. “Don’t say stuff like that, angel, you’ll get yourself in trouble,” she stammered.

Aziraphale smiled sadly and looked about the meadow, scrutinizing the flowers. “You know, Crowley, I don’t think anyone is listening.” She sighed in defeat. “I don’t think they ever were.” 

Crowley’s heart broke just a bit more for her friend. She had always known this, known that neither Heaven nor Hell watched what they did, probably didn’t even read their reports, but Aziraphale had always clung to the belief that Heaven cared about her and were proud of the work she did. As the friendship between the angel and demon grew more blatant, that belief turned to fear and paranoia, but she never stopped believing that Heaven cared enough to check on her. Yet Crowley knew that Aziraphale had not received more than an automated notice when she turned in her reports for millennia- Hell never even acknowledged Crowley existed except when her reports were late. 

"I don’t want to do this anymore,” Aziraphale exclaimed, gesturing loosely toward her hood and scythe. She gently pulled back the hood, releasing tight curls of white-blonde hair which grew to her chin. 

Crowley watched as Aziraphale combed through her hair with her fingers. “Then don’t,” she breathed.

Aziraphale paused and let her hands fall to her lap. She gazed into the middle distance, thinking hard. Turning her pale blue eyes on Crowley, she whispered hesitantly, “Will you come with me?” A mixture of sadness and hope resided in her gaze.

Crowley opened her mouth, then closed it again. Brought her angular hands up to remove her glasses. She squinted in the sunlight, then refocused on Aziraphale’s piercing gaze. Slitted amber eyes met clear blue ones. “Of course.” She had always known she would follow where Aziraphale led.

The angel smiled- not happily, thought Crowley, now was not the time for a happy smile, but she smiled as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders- and stood.  
Aziraphale reached toward her scythe, then thought better of it and offered her hand to Crowley. The demon balanced the child in her right arm and took Aziraphale’s hand with her left. Demon and angel stood hand in hand.

The angel let go first, and brought her hands to rest under the baby in Crowley’s arm. “May I?” she asked softly. Crowley’s eyes seemed to water for a moment before she nodded and let the bundle slip into Aziraphale’s grip. The angel walked away a few steps and crouched to rest the baby in the flowers. It seemed almost to be sleeping in its blanket, peaceful and still in the light. She held her right hand up, middle finger touching thumb, and looked back to Crowley once more. The demon nodded again, though her lips trembled slightly. Aziraphale turned back to the bundle and snapped, and it burst into clean, white flames.

From a few feet away, Crowley could feel no heat from the fire, but she did not dare step closer to the Holy Fire. Looking closely, she could see the plants around the bundle were unaffected by the flame as it licked over the wool blanket. The two entities watched as the fire consumed the bundle, and when it had taken everything it died and all that was left was a small indent in the grass.


End file.
